


Fire In Your Bones

by feathers_and_cigarettes



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, M/M, Oh Look There's Feelings In My Porn, Orgasm Denial, Power Play, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Clint Barton, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23488855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/pseuds/feathers_and_cigarettes
Summary: “I like bossin’ you around anywhere,” Bucky allows after a couple seconds of silence. “What if I’m just a bossy fella?”“You don’t get off on yellin’ at me to take out the trash,” Clint points out. “You did get off on controlling what I did in bed last night, on having me completely at your mercy.”In which Clint and Bucky take their relationship a step further and play around.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 21
Kudos: 240





	Fire In Your Bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anabeauce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anabeauce/gifts).



> Comm for the ever amazing Anabeauce! Thank you, thank you for putting up with my shenanigans and hope you don't mind I took a lighthearted take on your prompt. We all could use some fluffy Winterhawk right now, and I hope you enjoy!

Clint’s not really surprised the first time it happens. He’s honestly surprised it hasn’t happened _sooner_ , they’ve been tiptoeing around exploring further for months now even though neither have said anything about it. Sure, most of their sex is still fairly vanilla, with both of them laughing and teasing more often than not, but their rougher encounters have gotten steadily more… purposeful. There’s something bigger blooming between the two of them, something more serious, more intense, and Clint’s happy to nosedive straight into it, as long as Bucky’s comfortable.

So when Bucky’s eyes darken a bit when he grabs Clint’s wrists and pins them to the bed and darken even _more_ when Clint lets himself be pinned rather than put up his usual fight, Clint knows where this is going.

“Don’t move,” Bucky rasps, his voice coming out lower, huskier than usual. His hips rut against Clint’s, his mouth hot and wet at Clint’s neck.

Even when he _wants_ to take orders, Clint’s never been really great at it. He has a hunch and Bucky’s so worked up that if anything were to go south, he’d pick up on it pretty quickly. Letting out an encouraging moan, Clint tilts his head to give Bucky better access and very slowly moves his hands up and over his head, clasping his own wrists and leaving them crossed on the pillow.

Bucky’s eyes follow the movement hungrily and Clint knows he’s scored.

“This is better, right?” Clint purrs, baring his throat just enough and flexing his arms, showing off his strength while keeping up the image of vulnerability. He lets his legs fall open a bit more, rolling his hips up to meet Bucky’s in deliberate invitation.

“I said not to move,” Bucky growls, left hand darting up to grab Clint’s crossed wrists in an almost painful grip. “No matter how pretty a picture you make like this.”

Clint groans under the praise, chasing Bucky’s lips that keep maddeningly pulling out of reach. He tests Bucky’s grip, his arousal ratching up when the unyielding metal tightens, Oh yeah. This is something he can get used to.

“Stay,” Bucky grits out, leaning down to give Clint’s bottom lip a sharp nip and letting go of his wrists. “You ain’t gonna like it if I have to keep your hands there, sweetheart. Don’t move.”

Curiosity almost gets the better of Clint but he obeys, letting Bucky take the lead. He wants to see how far Bucky goes on his own before pushing back, wants to make sure he’s even _capable_ of obeying and not being his usual contrary self. Keeping his hands in one place is an easy enough test of that.

Bucky hums his approval and sits back on Clint’s thighs. He runs his fingertips lightly down Clint’s chest, ghosting over scars both faded and fresh, taking care around the patch of ugly yellow-brown bruising mottling Clint’s left side. Scratching his nails lightly over Clint’s nipples, he smiles as Clint writhes underneath him and Clint almost fails his test right there.

Muscles straining to keep still, Clint gasps and swears, his own fingernails biting into his wrists with the effort of obeying. He can do this.

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful, tryin’ so hard to be good for me,” Bucky says, his voice sliding like silk over Clint’s body and sending another shiver down his spine. “You’re gonna be good, right, Clint? Gonna hold still just like that, let me see those arms?”

Yeah. Yeah, he can be good. Anything for Bucky, he’s said it before, would say it a thousand times.

A light stroke to his cock has Clint twitching and panting, his fingers slipping before he slams his wrists back together. He blinks rapidly, presses his forearms harder into the pillow, hoping Bucky will forgive his slip.

“Good, you’re doin’ real good,” Bucky murmurs, tucking his hair behind his ear and leaning forward to press his lips to Clint’s sternum. His lips leave a trail of fire down Clint’s abdomen, his tongue tracing the outline of each muscle group in turn before he shifts himself down to nibble and suck at Clint’s hipbones.

Clint bites his lip to keep from crying out at Bucky’s tongue laves over the head of his cock. It’s all he can do to keep his arms above his head and he almost wishes he were tied up so he could thrash and fight but still – technically – obey. It’s the easy way out though, and he knows Bucky enjoys this far more, loves the control he has over Clint just from the desire to obey. His head is swimming and the faint sound of his own whimpers is audible in his aids, nearly drowned out by the rush of blood in his head.

Bucky watches him, blue-grey eyes flickering from Clint’s eyes to his arms as he slowly and deliberately licks a long stripe up the shaft.

Clint keens, hips jerking up to follow the wet heat. He can do this, he can, he just needs Bucky’s mouth on him like, _yesterday_. He clenches his hands around his wrists, the strain of his muscles providing a delicious burn to add to the pleasure.

“Perfect, Clint, just like that.”

The fire is back, Bucky’s mouth hot and wet and just the right amount of pressure and Clint forces himself to watch, the visual adding another layer of difficulty to his task. He’s probably a glutton for punishment at this point, watching as his cock slides in and out of Bucky’s mouth, the broad hands holding his hips to the bed.

Bucky at least seems to take pity on him, humming his approval around Clint’s cock and working lips and tongue to hit every one of Clint’s hot spots. He bobs his head in a quick rhythm, fast, fast, slow, his tongue swiping over the head of Clint’s cock on every slow stroke, his right hand wrapping around what he can’t fit in his mouth.

Clint’s taught him well, normally _too_ well, but right now he’s grateful to not drag this out for too long because he’s absolutely _aching_ to touch Bucky, to bury his hands in the man’s hair, anything at all. Keeping still is taking every ounce of willpower he has.

“Buck, I’m gonna come,” Clint groans, breath coming in harsh pants, feeling the pressure pooling low in his groin. God, he just wants to _touch_ , even more than he wants to come. “Bucky, please, please.”

Bucky grunts at Clint’s pleas, redoubling his efforts and reaching down with his free hand to palm his own cock.

Fuck it. Clint lets go with a guttural cry, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he comes down Bucky’s throat, unable to keep himself on the edge of orgasm and keep his arms locked above his head at the same time. He gasps for breath, eyes screwed shut and toes curling into the sheets, babbling a mix of obscenities and Bucky’s name as pleasure rolls over him in a tidal wave.

He’s floating, just this side of overstimulated as Bucky lets him go. He grins slowly, letting out a moaning laugh as he watches Bucky lick his lips, tongue swiping at the rivulets of saliva and come that escape his mouth.

Bucky’s close, his cock red and dripping as he sits back on his haunches. Clint’s never seen him like this before, his expression nearly feral as he moves to lean over Clint, his right hand roughly jerking his cock as he braces on his left. He cages Clint in close, glancing quickly up at Clint’s still crossed arms before he comes with a growl, painting hot stripes over Clint’s abs and groin.

They’re boneless on the bed together, a sticky, sweaty tangle of limbs. Clint’s more relaxed than he’s been in weeks, drifting on a rush of dopamine with his arms still clasped above his head.

Bucky kisses him thoroughly, licking into his mouth like a starving man. “Give me your hands, sweetheart, you did so good,” he breathes against Clint’s lips and reaching up to tug Clint’s arms down.

Clint’s triceps burn as he brings his arms back down, startling him a little with how much effort he’d been exerting to keep them there. He did it though, and he made Bucky happy which was really the ultimate goal of the experiment. Brushing his fingertips over Bucky’s lips, he smiles when Bucky catches his hands with his own and drops gentle kisses over his battered knuckles.

“You okay, Clint?”

Stretching and making quiet happy noises at the back of his throat, Clint nods, tugging Bucky down and tucking him in at his side. Clint Barton: former SHIELD agent, Avenger, occasional mercenary, and unabashed cuddler. “M’fine,” he slurs, nosing into Bucky’s hair with a satisfied sigh. “More’n fine. Fuckin’ great, man. Should boss me around more often.”

Bucky chuckles and presses a kiss to Clint’s jaw. “If I’d’ve thought you’d actually listen maybe I would’ve tried it earlier.”

“Should do it again.”

“Mmm, we’ll see.”

Clint normally would have an argument for _definitely_ ensuring they’d do more things to add to some mind-blowing sex, but the exhaustion from the day and from obeying Bucky’s small order has set in and he lets sleep claim him.

~*~*~*~

The scent of coffee drags Clint from the depths of sleep. He lounges in bed for a minute or two, noting that at some point during the night, Bucky’d cleaned him up and removed his hearing aids. Yawning, he grabs his aids from the nightstand and fits them into his ears, switching them on as he picks up a discarded pair of sweatpants from the floor.

Bucky’s at the counter sipping from a chipped coffee mug when Clint pads downstairs from the loft. He glances up, his gaze lingering a little on Clint’s bare chest and the sweatpants riding low on his hips.

“Mornin’, sunshine. Late morning. Closer to afternoon, really.”

Clint rolls his eyes and flips Bucky the bird, bending to ruffle Lucky’s ears and kiss the top of the golden retriever’s head. At least someone appreciates him. “Whose fault is that?” he returns with a grin. “Sucked my brains out through my dick last night and you expect me to get up early? How long have we known each other, Buck?”

“Long enough to know you’d have slept in just as late even if you hadn’t gotten laid last night,” Bucky says with a laugh and a crooked grin.

Grabbing the coffee pot, Clint takes a long sip and leans against the counter on his forearms. “Hey, superheroes gotta get all the rest we can. You and Cap are the weird ones with your early morning runs and shit.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Clint grins over the coffee pot and drinks in silence for a long moment. He’s not quite sure how the conversation he wants to have will go; Bucky’s usually pretty reasonable in the moment when it comes to sex, but he’s never been one for serious discussions about it. Clint’s not usually one for serious discussions about _anything_ , but he knows it’s not something he can keep putting off and last night proved it.

“So, I, uh,” Clint begins, amazed at how much the English language likes to conveniently abandon him when it comes to serious matters. “We should probably talk about last night.”

Bucky frowns, but sets his mug down on the counter and tilts his head slightly in confusion. “What about it? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, it’s not bad, not at all,” Clint reassures him, moving over to the freezer to dig around for a breakfast burrito. He’ll be damned if he has to have a conversation about his sex life on an empty stomach.

On the table, Bucky’s hands fidget as Clint pops the burrito in the microwave. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No! No, Buck, you were awesome, man, I swear it’s nothing bad. I just don’t really know how to word it, y’know?” Clint soothes, reaching over to rub a hand over Bucky’s. “Not really a conversation I’ve had before.”

Bucky’s expression turns suspicious. “You ain’t proposing, are you?”

Clint barks a laugh and pats Bucky’s hand. He moves back to the microwave, stomach gurgling impatiently. “Definitely not, I don’t hate you enough to make you stuck with me forever,” he says with a grin. “Kinda wanna talk to you about a different sort of ball and chain though.”

Eyes narrowing, Bucky picks his mug back up and takes another mouthful. “This is gonna get weird, isn’t it.”

“Not weird! Just something I think you might be interested in,” Clint says, relieved when the microwave beeps. He grabs the burrito, swearing softly as his fingers burn in the process. “If it’s not something you think you want, then just tell me to shut up at any time, okay?”

“All right – here, Clint, you’re ridiculous, put the fuckin’ thing on a plate,” Bucky sighs, pushing a plate in Clint’s direction as Clint juggles the piping hot burrito from one hand to the other.

Clint drops the burrito onto the plate and licks melted cheese and grease off his fingers. “Thanks. So, I’ve been noticing for a while that you kinda maybe like it when you boss me around a little bit in bed,” he says, carefully watching Bucky’s face as he speaks. He doesn’t think he’s read the whole thing wrong, but Bucky’s surprised him before. There could be any number of reasons why either of them wouldn’t want to pursue anything kinkier than what they’ve been doing, but Clint’s curious to figure out where their lines are drawn.

“I like bossin’ you around anywhere,” Bucky allows after a couple seconds of silence. “What if I’m just a bossy fella?”

“You don’t get off on yellin’ at me to take out the trash,” Clint points out. “You _did_ get off on controlling what I did in bed last night, on having me completely at your mercy.”

Bucky goes to protest and Clint interrupts him, speaking through a mouthful of burrito and rubbing the cool vibranium of his hand reassuringly. “Hear me out, hear me out. I _liked_ being at your mercy, okay, Buck? It was hot as hell and I really liked making you happy and seeing how far I could push myself. I want to try exploring that a little bit more.”

The silence is a palpable thing in the kitchen. Lucky comes over to lean on Bucky’s leg, his tail thumping against the hardwood floor and tongue lolling out of his mouth in a happy smile.

“What if I lose control?”

“You haven’t in missions yet. You felt outta control at all otherwise?”

Bucky frowns slightly and scratches behind Lucky’s ears. “No, I’ve felt pretty good lately. Figurin’ myself out again.”

Clint smiles. Feelings talks aren’t really his strong point but it’s a relief to hear that Bucky’s been feeling good. Hell, _relationships_ aren’t really Clint’s strong point but for whatever reason he and Bucky just seem to click.

“I trust you, Buck, and it’s not like it has to be an every time thing. We can try some stuff out and see how it goes, nothin’ fancy.”

“No whips and chains?” Bucky asks with a smirk.

“Nah, I was thinking more just we try you telling me what to do for now. Maybe tie my hands up; last night was doable but if we do anything more than a quick blowjob, I’m gonna need some restraints.”

Bucky’s eyes darken slightly and he sucks in a small breath through his teeth – almost imperceptible, but Clint catches it. Restraints are apparently on the table then.

“What do you get out of it?”

Clint feeds the remainder of the burrito to Lucky and leans against the countertop. “I can’t really describe it, but not having to make any decisions and having everything being taken care of for me by someone I trust? Shit, man, it’s a rush. I trust you, I’m not afraid of you, I like it when you tell me I’m doing a good job.”

Sipping his coffee, Bucky schools his face into something unreadable. He flexes his left hand, watching the metal plates shift. “What if I hurt you? Not on purpose - I don’t think I’d lose control like that – but accidentally? Will you tell me to stop?”

Nodding, Clint takes the mug out of Bucky’s hands and covers them with his own. “We’ll have a system in place, for both of us. Any time it starts to get to be too much and either of us wants to stop, we call out a word and everything stops, no questions asked. We can do a traffic light system and check in with each other – three colours, y’know?”

Bucky tilts his head slightly, a stray lock of hair falling into his eyes and Clint brushes it back gently. “Colours?”

“Yeah, you think you can remember to ask me what my colour is every now and then? Green is good to go, yellow for slow down, red for stop and talk. I’ll call my safeword if I need everything to stop immediately.”

“I can do that,” Bucky agrees with a nod. “And what if I need to stop? What if my head gets too fuzzy?”

“Colours apply to you too and you’ll have your own safeword. Either of us call a colour that isn’t green or need to safeword, we do it.”

Bucky seems to be reassured by this, the tension leaving his face a bit. He’s back to making eye contact with Clint and he’s stroking Clint’s hands with his thumbs. “I can do that,” he murmurs. “I was… I dunno, _clearer,_ I guess, last night. Everything was sharper, more intense. I liked watching you fight to stay still, to be good for me.”

Clint swallows heavily and mentally yells at his dick. They have at least two meetings with Steve and Tony to get through and Clint owes Nat lunch from like three weeks ago. Bucky’s older than goddamned dirt and Clint ain’t exactly a spring chicken lately either, they can keep it in their pants until later.

“Yeah, uh, that’s exactly why I suggested it,” Clint says, clearing his throat. “Come up with a specific word you want to use and maybe we can try some stuff tonight?”

“No pressure?” Bucky asks, interest flickering across his face and warring with his uncertainty. Clint wants to grab his face and kiss him; half a year ago he’d never have been this open, this honest, and it warms Clint’s heart to see.

Lifting Bucky’s left hand to his lips, Clint kisses the metal softly, feeling the fingers twitch lightly in his grasp. “No pressure.”

It’s a date.

~*~*~~*~

Clint paces impatiently in the bedroom later that night, trying not to keep glancing at the bedside table where he’s stashed the length of silky fabric. He’s not even sure they’ll get there tonight - it’d just been an impulse purchase on his way back from his afternoon with Nat – and he’d meant it when he’d told Bucky there was no pressure. The scarf’s mere presence is sending little sparks of anticipation through Clint’s nerves though, its simple existence bringing an idle fantasy to reality.

Christ. He really needs to get himself under control or he’s going to scare Bucky off.

He’s already taken care of Lucky, eaten a light dinner, showered, and changed into his most comfortable sweats and he still feels like he’s going out of his mind. Patience has never been his strong suit and Bucky’s text apologizing for being late has sent him into a bit of a tailspin.

He glances at himself in the mirror, runs his hands through his hair, frowns, and decides to keep the t-shirt on. His side’s a giant bruise and he knows Bucky doesn’t give a shit, but he’d rather just have the marks Bucky’d put on him on display to start.

Downstairs, Lucky’s happy barks signal Bucky’s arrival and Clint’s nervous again despite himself. He rubs his hands on his sweatpants, gives himself one last once-over in the mirror, and pads out of the bedroom and down the first few steps.

“Hey, you,” Clint calls, leaning on the railing as he watches Bucky strip off his jacket and kick his boots into the closet. “Fury decide to go on one of his rants again?”

The noise Bucky makes is nothing short of a growl as he crouches to pet Lucky. “Stevie decided to say ‘fuck it’ to Fury’s orders yesterday and he was on the warpath. Everyone at the compound got an earful,” he replies, scratching Lucky’s neck until the golden’s kicking his leg in midair happily. “Fury seems to think I’ve got some sort of influence over the moron, so he had me cornered tryin’ to get me on his side when I was leaving.”

“Did you tell him to kiss your ass?”

Bucky sighs and buries his nose in Lucky’s fur. He takes a deep breath and when he looks back at Clint, he’s less irritated. “Not in so many words, but yeah. Stevie doesn’t listen to anyone; he ran my Ma ragged with some of the stunts he pulled back in the day.”

“You’d think Fury would have figured that out by now. Cap’s worse than Stark,” Clint agrees.

Snorting, Bucky climbs the stairs and wraps a hand around the back of Clint’s neck, tugging him down for a kiss. “And you’re worse than both of ‘em,” he teases.

Clint grins against Bucky’s lips. “Yeah, probably.” He kisses Bucky again, adding a little more bite to it and smirking at the resulting hiss. “So, uh, we still on for that date tonight?”

Bucky stiffens and for a second, Clint thinks he’s changed his mind. His back straightens though, returning the kiss with bruising intensity, his hand tightening on the back of Clint’s neck.

“Let me go shower,” Bucky says when he finally pulls back, fingers rubbing at Clint’s nape. “Colour?”

Warmth floods down Clint’s spine at Bucky’s words, pleased he remembered to ask. He arches his neck under Bucky’s fingers, eyes drifting half shut in pleasure. “Green,” he replies with a groan. “Forest green, neon green, grass green – you pick the shade, anything works.”

Bucky huffs a laugh and kisses Clint’s forehead as he moves up the last few steps toward their loft bathroom. “Just green is fine. Go make yourself comfortable; strip if you’re okay with that. I won’t be long.”

He’s still holding back, Clint can see his hesitation despite the order. He’s clearly still for this, but maybe he just needs a nudge in the right direction.

Dropping his sweatpants on the stairs, Clint pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it over the railing. He lowers his gaze and crosses his hands behind his back, the motion bringing back visceral memories from the night before and making his cock twitch. “Am I allowed to touch myself?” he asks, keeping his voice soft. If he weren’t on a stairwell he’d have opted for dropping to his knees too, but a concussion would probably ruin the mood.

Bucky swallows heavily, his body language sharpening. His eyes drop to Clint’s slowly-awakening cock and he bites his lip, barely holding back a groan. Reaching out, he tilts Clint’s chin up to meet his eyes, his grip firm but gentle. “No touching yourself; that’s for me,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

_Christ_ , there it is. That pitch in Bucky’s voice that makes Clint weak in the knees. Biting the inside of his cheek, Clint clears his throat and nods. “No touching. Got it.”

The grip on Clint’s chin tightens briefly, a reminder of just how strong Bucky is. “Go lay down on the bed. Do not touch yourself, sweetheart. I’ll know if you do. Am I clear?” Bucky says, his tone more commanding, more sure of himself. It’s hot as hell and Clint isn’t embarrassed to admit it.

Clint nods again, keeping his hands clasped behind his back as Bucky releases him and takes a step back. “Yes; crystal,” he replies, clearing his throat and saunters back up the stairs and over to their bed.

His hips sway deliberately and his head’s high as he walks; he’s being a shit, which is probably unfair for their first time officially trying out something kinkier, but he wants Bucky to be at ease and the best way he knows how to do that is to be a shithead.

Oh well. An obedient shithead is better than his usual level of asshattery.

He can feel Bucky’s eyes on him as he crawls up the bed, making sure to keep his ass on display. Rolling onto his back, he settles himself against the pillows and he’s about to lazily drape his arms through the gaps in the headboard when he sees the look on Bucky’s face.

The bastard is downright _predatory_ and Clint’s fucking _lucky_ he never encountered Bucky as the Winter Soldier cause he’d probably have died with a boner.

Bucky raises an eyebrow because he probably knows what Clint’s thinking and gives a small, slightly terrifying smirk before he turns and walks into the bathroom.

The first thirty seconds pass and Clint’s pretty sure he’s got this. He wriggles on the soft mattress until he’s comfortable, adjusts his pillows, and peeks at the scarf in the end table drawer, which is mistake number one.

Mistake number two is reaching into the drawer to touch the silk, his blood rushing immediately south when he lets the soft fabric slide through his fingers. He wonders what it would feel like against his wrists, whether Bucky would tease him with it first. Thanks to his circus escapades, he can probably get out of just about any restraint – though he’d really rather not have to dislocate his thumb to get out of a silk sex scarf – but he wonders just how much he could pull against it.

Shutting the drawer with a groan, Clint flops back against the pillows and glares at his cock as it makes its presence known. Okay. Maybe don’t think too much about the scarf if he’s not able to touch himself at all.

The minutes tick by and Clint wonders if Bucky’s making him wait on purpose, dragging out his shower just to make Clint sweat. It’s something Clint would do – has done – when he’s experimented before but that was on the other side of things and while it’s _enjoyable_ torture, it’s still torture. His hands twitch against the sheets and he balls them into fists at his side, crosses his ankles, and stares resolutely at the ceiling.

He just needs to not touch his dick. It’s not rocket science. He’s not sixteen anymore.

Just thinking about not touching his dick, of course, makes him think instead about all the ways Bucky will reward him for being so good and obeying and that’s mistake number three. Maybe he’ll blow Clint again? That was difficult, but doable – likely Bucky’d make it tougher this time around. Clint’s not sure he could fuck or get fucked without moving his hands and being still but hey, that’s what the scarf’s for.

And he’s back to mistake number two, that goddamned scarf.

Whining a little in the back of his throat, Clint loops his arms through the slats on the headboard and digs his toes into the sheets, his hips bucking up into the air shallowly. Fuck. He’s got this. He can be good; he can be good; he can be –

“Clint?”

Bucky’s framed by the cloud of steam in the doorway, his towel in hand and water beading down his chest that Clint wants to lick off. He gives his hair one last ruffle with the towel and hangs it on the corner of the door. “Clint; what’s your colour, sweetheart?”

Clint’s hands are still in the headboard, his cock hard and reddened against his abdomen. The wanton picture he must make has certainly not escaped Bucky, who’s looking at him like a fuckin’ six course meal. He twists, grinning lasciviously. “Jade.”

Warm vibranium fingers clench on his bicep and Clint fights back the moan that threatens to rip from his throat. “If you’re going to do your best to press all my buttons, what’s the difference between this and our regular sex life?” Bucky growls.

“Because now you have the power to shut me up if you want?” Clint tilts his head, still grinning. “I don’t think you do though. I think you like it when I push your buttons and mouth off a little bit.”

Bucky’s on him in an instant, swinging his leg over Clint’s hips and metal hand like a vice on his chin. He rolls his hardening cock against Clint’s, a feral look coming over him at Clint’s moan. “I could find other ways to occupy your mouth, but that doesn’t really work with what I’ve got in mind for you,” he says, the uncertainty he had replaced with cool confidence.

Good. Clint had been worried that Bucky would take it too seriously, that he wouldn’t just have fun and indulge himself, but there’s no mistaking that Brooklyn drawl or the hard flesh rutting into Clint’s hip. Bucky’s enjoying himself.

Abruptly, Bucky leans in for a searing kiss, diving deep into Clint’s mouth and taking his breath away. He bites Clint’s lower lip as he pulls back, his hair framing his face like a mane. “We’ll start off easy. If you’re good and do what I tell you, we’ll move onto the next step. If you decide to be an asshole, we move back a step. You are not going to come until we’re done. It’s in your best interest to keep me moving along, do you understand?”

There’s that _tone_ again and Clint melts against Bucky, sinking down into the mattress under that comforting weight. He’s been making small, inhuman noises since Bucky kissed him and he nods, hoping one of those noises might be English.

They aren’t, apparently. Bucky’s eyes narrow and he pulls back just enough that Clint can barely feel the heat of his body. “This ain’t gonna go far if you won’t answer my questions,” he says in a steely voice.

Clint makes a few more sounds that are definitely not words as Bucky rolls his hips again. “Yes,” he finally manages. “I understand.”

“Color?”

“Green.” Thank God that’s one of the ten words he remembers and he also manages a question of his own as he hovers around subspace. “Your colour?”

Bucky’s smile does _things_ to Clint’s heart, things that should be illegal, things that Clint hasn’t felt in a long time. His face softens and he cups Clint’s face, his thumb running lightly over his cheekbone. “Green.” Bucky smiles again, a slight twist to his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Thank you for asking, Clint. I don’t know why you think you gotta be contrary all the time; isn’t cooperating good?”

Clint sucks in a breath as Bucky’s left hand wraps around his cock, the cooling metal a maddening contrast to his overheated flesh. He whines, pulls his arms away from the headboard to pull Bucky closer, only to freeze as his brain catches up. Is he allowed to touch Bucky? He’s been good about not touching himself, but he needs Bucky closer.

The hand around Clint’s cock pauses and Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“It’s fun,” Clint says finally, figuring Bucky’s not necessarily looking for a specific answer so much as he’s looking for honesty.

“Fun,” Bucky repeats, tilting his head slightly. “I think I can find more productive ways to occupy your time, yeah? Productive and equally fun things.”

Clint decides to take the risk and runs his palm down Bucky’s thigh, his heart beating wildly in his chest at the feel of the thick muscle. “Whatever you want,” he rasps, spreading his legs open a little more for emphasis. “Green,” he adds, unsure if it bears repeating.

Removing Clint’s hand from his thigh, Bucky takes it in both of his own and kisses the scarred knuckles. “I didn’t say you could touch me yet,” he muses, moving to press his lips to each of Clint’s fingertips. “Suppose I didn’t say you _couldn’t_ , so I’ll grant you a pass on that one. I think I’ll let you touch, would you like that?”

Nodding frantically, Clint’s fingers twitch against Bucky’s lips. “Please,” he says, hating how desperate he sounds, but aching for more. He tries to reach out to run his free hand down Bucky’s chest, but Bucky’s too fast and his wrist is caught in an iron grip.

“You can touch exactly how and where I say you can touch.” Bucky moves Clint’s right hand to his chest, letting him sweep down the scarred skin to Bucky’s ribcage. He presses Clint’s hand to his hip and squeezes gently before letting go. “This hand stays here for now.”

Clint obeys, flattening his palm against Bucky’s hip to feel as much of him as he can, stroking in small movements just to see how far he’s allowed to stray.

“No more than that.” Bucky shifts his weight in Clint’s lap and guides his other hand down to his cock. “Good job, sweetheart, that’s really good. Take us both in your hand and start moving slowly. I wanna enjoy this.”

_Fuck_ , the feel of Bucky’s hard dick against his own is almost too much. Clint’s toes curl into the sheets and he pants heavily. He wraps his hand around both their cocks, his thumb sweeping over the tips to spread the fluid around to ease his way. Slow. That’s the key. He can do this.

Bucky’s getting into the orders now though, running his hands along Clint’s chest, tracing individual muscles and scars and scratching over his nipples. “Faster – not that fast, _there_ ,” he groans, his head falling back as he thrusts into Clint’s hand. “Right there, that’s perfect, Clint. You’re doing so well for me.”

Clint bites his lip, more turned on by a handjob than he’s ever been in his life. He twists his wrist on the upstroke, his nails digging into Bucky’s hip, the praise swimming around in his head and he’s like an addict, he needs _more._

“Doin’ wonderful, Clint,” Bucky murmurs, sweat starting to glisten at his throat and Clint just wants to lick it clean. “I knew this would be too easy for you; you’re too good for this.”

Wait, what?

Clint starts to whine, his stroking losing its rhythm for a second until Bucky kisses him thoroughly, pitching praise into his skin until he’s steady again.

“I want you to grab the lube from the drawer and you’re gonna hold onto the headboard. If you think you’re going to come, you’re going to tell me. Do not let go of the headboard. Do you understand?”

Okay, Clint can do that. Instead of having to keep his hands still above his head, he’ll at least have something to hold onto this time around, something to keep him grounded. He nods, remembers to give a verbal “yes” and reluctantly takes his hands off Bucky, opening the drawer and resolutely avoiding the scarf inside as he grabs the lube. He presses the tube into Bucky’s hand and raises his arms over his head, he grabs the headboard, looping his forearms through the slats in a semi-comfortable position.

Bucky sits back, his eyes raking up Clint’s body, lingering for a long moment on his upper arms. “God, you’re pretty, y’know that?”

Clint whines again, because yes, he knows he’s good looking, but he doesn’t know how to take shit like that.

“Answer me,” Bucky says softly, reaching out to grasp Clint’s chin again so he can’t look away.

“I guess,” Clint replies, because it’s technically an answer and he doesn’t have to agree to follow directions. He arches his back, trying to get Bucky to focus on the tube of Astroglide he’s got in his hand.

Nodding softly, as if Clint’s answered a big mystery for him, Bucky kisses him gently and releases his chin. “Okay, that’s okay. We’ll work on that. What’s your colour?”

“Still green.”

There’s a flash of teeth in Bucky’s answering kiss and the cap makes an almost startling pop as Bucky flicks the tube open. He moves to kneel between Clint’s legs, lifting one up over his shoulder and making Clint bemoan the loss of his weight.

The loss is short lived. Two of Bucky’s lube-slicked fingers enter him and Clint’s crying out, pushing back onto the digits and jerking his forearms almost painfully in the gaps of the headboard.

Bucky murmurs quiet praise as Clint cries and thrashes underneath him, his fingers working at an agonizing pace, teasing and going just shallow enough that Clint’s going to go out of his mind.

“Wait, Buck, please,” Clint gasps, moaning as Bucky removes his fingers and raises an eyebrow. “Not gonna be able to keep my arms like this if you fuck me. No way.”

Metal fingertips dance along Clint’s thigh. “You can’t or you won’t?” Bucky asks, his tone not judging, a glimmer of concern colouring his voice. “Do you need me to stop?”

“No!” Dear God, please no; Clint _never_ wants him to stop. “No, I just…” He trails off weakly and glances over at the end table. “I need help.”

There’s a long moment of silence and Clint’s afraid he’s fucked up, said something wrong, and then Bucky’s kissing his ankle and calf and rests his cheek against it. “I’m really happy you’re comfortable enough to ask for that,” he says quietly. “Get what you need.”

Clint’s muscles protest as he twists to grab the scarf out of the drawer and his pulse kicks up a notch when his fingers touch the soft silk. He pulls it out and runs it through his fingers, watching the material flow like liquid in his hands.

Bucky wipes his hands on the towel he’s set at the end of the bed and lowers Clint’s leg. He takes the scarf when Clint finally offers it to him and slides off the bed. Taking Clint’s right wrist, he crosses it over Clint’s left and wraps the length of fabric around them, taking care to double check his tie and the skin of Clint’s wrists before he loops the end around one of the slats of the headboard.

The feel of the silk tightening around his wrists is instantly grounding. Clint smiles happily up at Bucky, who returns it with that soft quirk of his lips. He tugs lightly as Bucky steps back, testing the strength; it’ll hold, and it’ll hold without cutting off his circulation. It’s just tight enough for Clint to always be aware of the fabric at all times and that’s more comforting than he would have ever expected.

“What’s your colour?” Bucky asks, still hovering at his right side.

Lime. Olive. Emerald. _Chartreuse_. “Green. You?”

Bucky’s smile is more than just a quirk of his lips this time, it lights up his whole stupid beautiful face. “Green,” he replies, reaching out to stroke Clint’s wrist down his forearm to his bicep and shoulder. “Comfortable?”

“Mmm.” Clint’s half floating again, completely relaxed. He lets his legs fall open again, rolls his hips in blatant invitation. “Come back, Buck.”

“You in a hurry for me to fuck you?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow. He crawls back onto the bed and grabs the lube. Slicking his cock, he slowly strokes himself, grinning as Clint whines his frustration. “I think you should ask nicely if I’m gonna be doin’ most of the work here.”

Bastard. Clint tugs at the silk and bites his lip. “C’mon, Buck; please,” he breathes. Something breaches him but it’s not what he wants, it’s just Bucky teasing him. “Buck, _please._ ”

“Please what?” Bucky crooks his finger, brushing Clint’s prostate and making him bellow out a deep moan.

“Fuck me, please, Buck,” Clint whines. He’s writhing on the bed, just needing _more_ , needing Bucky on him, in him, just needing to drown in the man. “Please.”

Bucky enters him in one smooth thrust and Clint’s yelling, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he sobs out Bucky’s name. His arms bracket either side of Clint’s head and he grunts quietly, a low sound that goes straight to Clint’s neglected dick.

“This what you wanted, Clint?” Bucky murmurs, a low groan escaping his throat as Clint wraps his legs around his waist. “Tell me. Lemme hear you, sweetheart.”

Clint’s not sure how many words he’s capable of, but sounds? Sounds he can do. He moans with every thrust of Bucky’s hips, keening nonsense and trying to push Bucky deeper with his legs.

“Clint. I told you to do something.”

Fuck, Bucky’s got that growl to his voice and it’s not helping on the whole coherency issue Clint’s got going on. He opens his mouth and attempts to answer, but all that comes out is a strangled cry as Bucky snaps his hips forward again.

“Yes!” Clint manages, twisting against the scarf until it’s digging into his wrists, just enough discomfort to make all of his senses heightened. God, he could go out just like this and he’d be fine with that, just as long as he has Bucky like this.

“Tell me,” Bucky insists, punctuating his words with quick, deep thrusts of his hips that brush over Clint’s prostate. “You feel so good, Clint. Tell me what you want.”

The praise just makes Clint soar higher. His breath’s coming in quick, shallow pants, Bucky swamping his senses. He cries out again and opens his eyes, focusing on Bucky’s face. “You, please, Buck. Wanna feel you come; wanna be good for you,” he babbles, surprised at how many actual words he’s managed to fit in.

Bucky leans his weight on his left arm when his right starts to shake. He ducks his head, the way he usually does when he’s overcome by strong emotion, his thrusts going shallow for a second. “That’s… God, Clint,” he says roughly. “You’re so good; look at you. You’ve gotta be close, but you’re thinkin’ of me.”

He _is_ close, his cock dripping steadily onto his stomach, each thrust pushing him closer to the edge. He’s not going to come until Bucky does though, wants to know it was his ability to follow direction and be _good_ that gets Bucky off.

Bucky’s got a wild look in his eyes now, his hips snapping forward steadily. He leans forward with a growl, sucking hot, wet bruises into Clint’s throat. His praise is just as erratic as Clint’s begging, words just picked out of a hat, the most popular among them being “good” and “Clint” and Clint’s more than all right with that.

They’re just breathing each other’s air now and Clint’s not sure where he ends and Bucky begins. Tears are streaming down his cheeks and he can’t bring himself to care, not when Bucky’s fucking into him like it’s their last night on earth and the silk is tight around his wrists, the pressure making him lose his mind.

A feral noise rips out of Bucky’s throat and he’s coming, slamming into Clint with spasmic thrusts. His hips grind flush against Clint’s and he gasps Clint’s name into his sweat-and-tear soaked throat.

The sight alone is almost enough to push Clint over the edge, to say nothing of Bucky’s weight sagging into him, the warmth of his breath puffing heavily into Clint’s neck, the feel of his cock twitching inside him.

Clint clasps his hands together, his nails biting into his skin. He’s trembling just from the effort of holding his own orgasm back and he barely registers that Bucky’s kissing him over and over.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart, that was so good,” Bucky says against Clint’s lips, running his hands through Clint’s hair. He’s still half hard inside Clint and he rocks forward to stay in. “You wanna come for me, Clint? Tell me; tell me you want to come.”

Clint’s mouth opens and closes as he struggles to think through the haze of pleasure. He shivers at the praise, his hips moving of their own accord, but his hands he fights to keep still. That’s what started this and that’s how he’ll stay.

“Bucky,” Clint pants, the word more of a reverent exhale. “Bucky, _please_. Lemme come.”

Not his most eloquent, but it’s enough for Bucky, who nearly purrs in response, pressing his lips against Clint’s and rumbles a throaty “come for me.”

It’s one of the few orders Clint doesn’t have any trouble following. He comes with a cry, thrusting up hard against Bucky’s stomach just to get a little bit of friction. Wet heat pools on his groin and Clint’s gone, sagging against the silk scarf and letting his legs fall from Bucky’s waist. He feels weightless, a better high than he’s felt in his life, and he floats for a while, his bones feeling like they’ve gone to liquid.

His brain’s still soaking in a hot tub of chemicals and he’s vaguely aware of Bucky untying the scarf and massaging his aching muscles.

“Easy, don’t move too fast,” Bucky says, his voice reaching through the fog in Clint’s brain. “There you go, one arm at a time, Clint.”

One arm, then the other. He can do that.

“That was… Jesus, Clint.”

Clint’s vision is blurry when he finally cracks his eyes open and he gives Bucky a lopsided grin. “Ain’t Jesus.”

Bucky snorts a laugh and kisses the knuckles of Clint’s right hand as he massages his wrist. “Yeah, no shit. How’re your arms?”

“S’fine. Held ‘em still.”

There’s that smile again and it’d make Clint weak in the knees if he could currently feel them. “Yeah, you did. I’m impressed. You did really well.”

The bed shifts for a second and then there’s something cool and wet on his abs. He hisses in discomfort, tries to twist away until Bucky kisses him, murmuring soft reassurances. The washcloth moves over his thighs, his dick, his ass and Clint melts back into the mattress again.

Clint stretches, opens his mouth obediently when Bucky waves an apple slice under his nose. He must’ve done research, Christ; Clint lucked out big time with this one.

“So I think you might like telling me what to do,” he slurs around a mouthful of apple. The picture of sexuality, Clint is. Hottest bastard ever.

Bucky tosses the washcloth and the towels in the direction of the bathroom and climbs into bed next to Clint, pulling him close and pressing soft kisses to his forehead. He’s got a bag of apple slices that Clint doesn’t think he wants until he has a second slice, and then Bucky’s laughing as Clint bites at his fingers along with the fruit.

“I might like it a little bit,” Bucky admits finally, eyes darkening as Clint swirls his tongue around his finger, making sure to get all of the sweet juice droplets. “I didn’t think it’d be that intense.”

Clint gives Bucky’s fingers one last lick and eyes the bag for another, happy to be hand fed. “You think you’d wanna do it again?”

Bucky feeds him another slice, a soft expression on his face. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I’d like that. Maybe not every time? But I like the clarity; everything is simple. I just can focus on you and block everything else out.”

Biting the slice in half, Clint offers the other piece to Bucky, laughing when Bucky twists away, rubbing it against his lips. “Whenever we want,” he replies, pulling Bucky down for a kiss, enjoying the heady mixture of fruit and the man’s unique flavour. “Just like everything else, we’ll work on this together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr!](http://feathers-and-cigarettes.tumblr.com)


End file.
